


The Perils and Pitfalls of Google

by Counterpunch



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:16:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Counterpunch/pseuds/Counterpunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn laughs. “I googled us. Which, was an incredibly stupid thing to do, I know, but ultimately so worth it ‘cause this stuff is pure gold.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perils and Pitfalls of Google

“Honey, what are you doing in here,” Rachel calls from the hallway. “Dinner’s ready. And by ready, I mean I unwrapped the plastic forks and spoons and put them next to the take-out boxes. You ready to eat?”  
  
“Hmm?” Quinn looks over her shoulder to see Rachel standing in the doorway. “C’mere and take a look at this,” she says, beckoning her over. “But before you do, make sure to use too many big words and get all huffy over something insignificant that doesn’t really matter.”  
  
Rachel waves her off and only looks the mildest bit offended. “I _can_ speak like a normal human being from time to time, you know. And sometimes it’s completely appropriate to involve myself with things that most people find trivial and—” Quinn cuts her off. “Right. That fulfills _that_ quota.”  
  
She scoots her chair over a little, allowing Rachel to grab a seat next to her in front of the computer. “I know all that, sure. But apparently it’s a requirement in these things.”  
  
“So, what are we looking at,” Rachel asks.   
  
Clicking around the screen, Quinn’s brow furrows and she’s torn between an intense look of fascination and confusion. “It’s-” she tilts her head and starts again. “I’m not exactly sure? It’s…. _ **us.**_ ”  
  
Puzzled, Rachel leans closer to the screen. “What do you mean ‘us’?”  
  
Quinn laughs. “I googled us. Which, was an incredibly stupid thing to do, I know, but ultimately so worth it ‘cause this stuff is pure gold.”  
  
“How many search results could have possibly popped up? I mean, aside from our jobs now, your cheer results from high school and old newsletters mentioning my many childhood accomplishments.”  
  
Opening tabs from a new bookmarked folder, Quinn chuckles incredulously. “Rach, if you can imagine it? I mean literally imagine it? It’s there.”  
  
Rachel scrolls and clicks around, and her eyebrows move increasingly further up her hairline. “Oh wow. In four pages I’ve gone from a hunted alien with superpowers to a pregnant teenager, to a badass zombie killer.” Giving it a moments consideration, she admits, “Well, I _am_ always prepared for most any situation.” After skimming through another page, Rachel frowns “Aw, and I’m also drugged out Broadway singer.”  
  
There’s a pause. Quinn just waits for the cry of indignation.   
  
“Exactly _ **how**_ many times am I a drugged, stressed, or slightly violent Broadway singer?!”  
  
“At least you’re not a stripper who’s emotionally stunted, hostile, and closed-off. Consider yourself lucky.” Quin crosses her arms. “There are more versions of me on here than I know what to do with.”  
  
Rachel looks over at her compassionately, “To be fair, sweetie, you are a bit of an enigma.”  
  
Quinn throws her hands in the air. “Well, it’s not _my_ fault. I’ve been so tossed around with characterization and direction that _**I**_ don’t even know who I am! I don’t blame there being 300 versions of me floating around the internet. Look at this, I’ve made an actual list: doctor, blonde - which is true now, though a plotpoint people hate, despise, or tolerate, but plotpoint nonetheless-” Quinn starts numbering with her fingers now, “an alien with superpowers, an engineered experiment designed to protect you—”  
  
“Geez, talk about being literally _made_ for me,” Rachel mutters.  
  
Not even stopping, Quinn continues barreling on. “Murderer on the run—we did that one together, though, with Brittany and Santana, so that’s nice. A ghost, a photographer or actress —- are we even sure this is me? Or are people getting me confused with the girl who _looks_ a lot like me? A therapist, werewolf, editor/publisher—”  
  
“Okay, that I can see,” Rachel interrupts. “You’re good at judging people.” She cringes. “Things. People _and_ things.”  
  
Quinn tosses her a look.   
  
“What?” Rachel shrugs, “It’s true. You’re a lot less _mean_ about it now, but still true. Anything else?”  
  
“An addict, lawyer, and drunk.”  
  
“Wow,” Rachel blinks, dumbfounded.   
  
“Oh! And every time we have a kid, the baby has blonde hair. Puck and I both have natural dark hair, so unless there’s a peroxide gene, I’ve no clue how Beth ended up a blonde, let alone one of our kids, so go figure.”  
  
Rachel stays quiet for a moment while Quinn catches her breath. “You finished?”  
  
“Yeah. But don’t even get me started about the bacon. It was ** _one_** time.”  
  
Rachel rolls her eyes. “I know. Why people fixate on that, we’ll never know,” she trails off, looking horrified at the computer screen.   
  
“Oh my god.”  
  
Quinn turns to look at Rachel, concerned. “Honey, what’s wrong.”  
  
“We have penises.”


End file.
